


Eternal Lines to Time

by silhouette (thiefless)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Time Stone, Time Travel, Tony Stark is a Jerk, Young Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 03:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21469060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiefless/pseuds/silhouette
Summary: Peter was so unbelievably screwed right now.And not in the fun, sexy, Tony Stark manner – which he definitely did not spend lonely nights fantasising about, because that would be Weird (yes, the capitalisation was necessary) – but in the more traditional, jumped-in-front-of-wonky-Time-Stone-to-protect-Mr. Stark way.So, now, Peter was in a casino, watching a very young, but very fucking beautiful, Tony Stark chat up three models.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 20
Kudos: 402





	Eternal Lines to Time

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how to feel about this one. It was cluttering up my notes app so I had to finish it. 
> 
> Set in a post-Endgame world where Peter is in his twenties, Pepper and Tony didn't get back together after Civil War, and nobody died (except that grapehead, Thanos). 
> 
> Title taken from Shakespeare's sonnet 18 because, yes, I am that cliché. 
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoy it! :)

Peter was so unbelievably screwed right now.

And not in the fun, sexy, Tony Stark manner – which he definitely did not spend lonely nights fantasising about, because that would be Weird (yes, the capitalisation was necessary) – but in the more traditional, jumped-in-front-of-wonky-Time-Stone-to-protect-Mr. Stark way. And it just so happened that that path led directly into time travelling decades into the personal history of the man Peter loved. 

So, now, Peter was in a casino, watching a very young, but very fucking beautiful, Tony Stark chat up three models.

Yep. Royally, royally screwed.

_Big Oof._

The mission was supposed to be easy. It was easy; hardly a mission at all. Probably didn't deserve to even be labelled a 'mission', really it was more Doctor Strange calling up on a favour from Mr. Stark, and Peter just happened to be taken along for the ride. 

Mr. Stark hadn't been happy when Peter tagged along. Peter saw his crow feet crease; his eyes darken as Peter hopped out of his hiding spot just in time to deflect a passing blow from some Saruman-wannabe. He barely refrained from flinching at the anger leeching into Mr. Stark's face at the realisation that Peter had wilfully defied his explicit instructions to stay behind, his mouth contorting into a harsh white line.

Peter sympathised with Mr. Stark's frustration, much to his own annoyance. But Mr. Stark wasn't the only one with residual paranoia bleeding over from Titan and the final climax against Thanos. The nightmares and dreams haunted Peter's every waking thought, the knowledge that he had come so close to losing the greatest thing in his life. 

Peter swore he would never let it happen again. 

Which was why he leaped out in front of Mr. Stark, body moving instinctively, unconsciously, protectively curling into a human shield, as the Time Stone lashed out and– 

Well. Then Peter somehow managed to wind up here, and the rest was, quite literally, history.

Which was how Peter ended up leading a highly intoxicated Tony Stark away from those horribly, horribly beautiful models after the man started swaying unsteadily on his feet, looking dangerously close to puking up on their resplendent dresses.

Tony pawed at Peter's arm and pointed frantically at something over his shoulder. "Uh, sweet cheeks, you're going the wrong way. The bar's back there."

"Nuh uh. I know somewhere better than a grotty old bar." A bar that was way above Peter's monetary restrictions but still.

Tony's expression was absolutely filthy as he turned back to look at Peter and he finally stopped struggling in his hold. 

"Nap time," Peter said cheerfully. He clapped his hands together, ignoring the death glare he was receiving from an inebriated Tony.

"God, kid," Tony slurred heavily, full-on slumped against Peter whilst simultaneously fighting against his very presence, "don't know why I fucking bothered leaving with you." He barked a discordant laugh. "Probably out of pity. Have to keep up the philanthropist act for the press."

Now, Peter wasn’t going to front it: that one stung. Like, a lot. It was the culmination of all of his doubts and insecurities, voiced aloud so flippantly and callously. As though it were a fact; an unspoken rule. There was no way Tony Stark could look twice at Peter Parker. 

But, well. Fuck it. Peter'd always known that. Didn't make him love Mr. Stark any less. Nothing could ever make him love Mr. Stark any less – not even Tony.

Peter allowed himself his daily grief over his whole one-sided feeling to consume him for all of a second before carefully reapplying his composure the same way those models Tony favoured touched up their make-up – layer by layer, piece by piece. Sadly, by this point, he was a natural.

"Okay. Here's how this is going to go. I am going to help you get up to your ridiculously overpriced hotel room, and you can either stand there and moan about how you should be off getting head by three supermodels or you can help me. Because I _will_ haul your ass up these stairs if it kills me."

Tony stilled at Peter's outburst, as if realising somewhere in that inebriated head of his that he'd touched a nerve. Begrudgingly, he looped a hesitant arm around Peter's shoulder, quietly grumbling that _they were Playboy models, actually._

Peter politely declined to comment.

"God, you're such an annoying cockblock." Tony complained a few beats later. Silence wasn’t part of Tony Stark’s repertoire. 

Peter tried not to let it sting. Key word being: _tried_.

"What?” he added, sharp eyes calculating Peter’s poise. “Please don't tell me you're a virgin." Peter was unable to help his blush. Tony cackled. "Oh my god, you are." Tony's amused smile turned seductive. "I can help with that..."

"No, I'm _not_ a virgin," Peter confirmed through gritted teeth. This was not a conversation he ever thought he'd be an unfortunate participant in. 

Tony raised a brow. "Just _inexperienced_?" he mocked. 

"Tony, compared to you, the whole damn planet is inexperienced."

Tony laughed at that: a hearty, genuine cackle that had the corners of Peter's lips twitching in barely suppressed amusement. He hissed afterward, though, and pressed a hand to his temple. No doubt trying to soothe away the tell-tale signs of a killer hangover. 

"Uh, okay, Tony, I don't know what kind of people you've been sleeping with – actually, I have some idea – but I don't make a habit of sleeping with people too drunk – or high – out of their minds to consent."

Tony blinked owlishly. Peter dimly wondered whether he had crashed the supercomputer that was the infamous Stark mind.

"Y'know, Tony, believe it or not, but not everything's about sex."

Tony's eyes widened in shock, before narrowing in the blink of an eye. Peter was beginning to get whiplash from the man's mood swings. 

"Then what do you want from me?" Tony asked. "Money? Because, I feel it's my duty to warn you, I don't just give out my money to pretty strangers for the hell of it."

Peter heaved a sigh. "Maybe I'm just looking out for you," he said, tiredness colouring his voice.

Tony smirked darkly. "Everyone's got an ulterior motive," he muttered bitterly but nonetheless allowed Peter to lead him up to what Peter assumed (_hoped_?) was his room.

For all of Peter’s many fantasies involving Mr. Stark leading him up to his room in the crack of dawn, the reality was so disappointing, as it often was. Peter cursed his damned Parker Luck™.

Tony’s hotel room was absolutely massive, far more expensive than any Peter had himself been in. He gently guided Tony to the king-sized bed, dark sheets so tantalising it was almost cruel, and went to fix Tony a nice cool drink of water. He hoped that this would be an easy fix – just get Tony to sleep it off.

He could do this.

Right?

"I just want to go home," Peter said morosely, more to himself. He handed Tony his drink.

Tony grinned sardonically and held up his glass in a mock salute. "Don't we all, sweetheart?" Tony took a swig of the clear liquid before quickly spitting out the contents back into the glass. "What the fuck?" he cried. "What is this?"

Peter secretly relished the look of contempt on Tony's face as he drank the water, remembering the condescending words Tony had spat his way not a second before.

"Oh, that?" Peter was aiming for nonchalance but couldn't help a twinge of smugness bleeding through. "That's _water_. I can understand how that can be confusing to someone like you, who bathes their liver in alcohol too much to tell the difference."

Okay. Maybe he'd taken the whole patronising shtick a bit too far but fuck it, Tony had started it. This Tony was an absolute _dickwad_, to coin Flash. In fact, Peter would go so far as to say that this version of Tony Stark was decidedly worse than the Flash Peter had gotten to know in recent years. 

Tony glared at Peter. Peter thought it was a surprisingly good effort but on the whole, the fact that Tony was barely managing to stand up was ruining the effect. 

"Why is there water in my glass?" Tony asked as though speaking to a child, probably unaware that he was currently exuding the petulance most commonly found in kids. "What happened to my vodka? Did you eat it?"

Peter shook his head, irritation welling up beneath the surface.

"Now how am I meant to have a good time?” Tony’s eyes were blazing with desire, pupils blown wide. “Unless you fancy keeping me company?” Because his drug-addled mind had apparently deleted the many moments he’d insulted Peter.

"Jesus," Peter exclaimed. "I'm not going to have sex with you, Tony!"

“No?” Tony hurled hundred dollar bills in Peter's direction and, with a face full of poison, spat, "Then get the _fuck_ out of my room."

Peter gathered the money and left his room.

* * *

Of course, he left but he was never going to _leave. _

The look on Tony's face when Peter entered the room would forever be seared onto his mind. 

"You came back,” were the first words Tony said. They were dripping with bewilderment and something akin to awe flashed across Tony's face – almost too quick for Peter to catch it, even with his super speedy spider reflexes. Peter watched, heart in throat, as Tony erected his defences and his face closed off.

With more dramatic flair than was strictly necessary, Tony buried himself beneath the thick duvet, and left Peter to his own devices. The childish phrase, _if I can't see you, you can't see me_ sprang to mind. Except, Tony wasn't a toddler, despite appearances. Object permanence was very real.

"If you came looking for more money, my wallet's on the sofa," Tony snapped. "Help yourself."

In spite of the cold words, Peter's heart ached at the implication. Worse was the honesty in Tony's voice; the genuine belief that people only stayed for his riches. 

Peter wandered over to the sofa where Tony's wallet was haphazardly thrown in the centre, and deposited the rest of the money he'd taken in his quest for food. Peter carefully placed the literal money bag somewhere 

Honestly, Tony really needed to be more street-wise with his money. He couldn't meander through life precariously flashing the cash at anyone or anything that walked – _or build multi-million dollar suits for teenagers he'd only just met. _

"Not here for money," Peter said. "Got food."

Thank god for 90’s capitalist McDonalds. Always there for you, day and night.

"Tony, if you don't come out under the covers then I swear to god, I will force feed you this Big Mac."

Said man scoffed. The sound of it was muffled by the heavy blankets but Peter got the gist. "I'm not a child. Don't speak to me like I'm a child."

Peter ignored him. "I mean it: this burger is going straight down your gob."

"You look about twelve. You have no authority to order me around." A beat. "Unless you're into that sort of thing."

Dear god. Did the man ever stop flirting?

Peter hummed, pointedly ignoring that last comment. "And yet, I'm still more mature than you."

"Maturity's overrated."

Finally, the allure of greasy fast food was too much for rich, handsome geniuses to resist, and soon enough Tony reluctantly took the proffered meal.

Tony lost his unrevealing snarky demeanour after he'd had some food. He'd even started to drop his metaphorical guard down, pushing back his covers to angle his body more to Peter's. Peter wasn't sure whether Tony had dropped his defences because Peter had made it abundantly clear that he was 100% Not Leaving until Tony was all tucked up in bed, or whether it was because somewhere in that big genius brain of his, Tony knew that he'd already entered severe, alcohol-induced blackout zone and, as such, would have no recollection come the morning.

(The thought that Tony might not remember this interaction hurt a little but Peter shook it off. He knew it was for the best that Tony forget. 

Besides, Peter Parker wasn't all that memorable anyway.)

That wasn't to say that Tony had taken to prattling on about Emotions and Feelings. No, this younger Tony seemed to be even more emotionally constipated than his older counterpart, and that was a tremendous feat all in itself. All the same, Peter found himself engaging in Tony's witty anecdotes, ego somewhat suffocating, but it was so completely worth it to get Tony to smile.

Mr. Stark had the most beautiful smile.

"Isn't this the part where you sing a lullaby?" Tony grumbled into his pillow. Peter wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear that but reacted regardless.

Peter coughed. "A lullaby?"

"Yeah. If you insist one babying me then you ought to sing a good night song. Just to complete the look."

Peter never really understood when people claimed Tony was a massive dick but he was starting to. Clenching his jaw so tight he half worried he'd pop a vein, he nevertheless obliged Tony's request.

"_Incy wincy spider went up the water sprout_," Peter started. His singing truly was atrocious, so he was viciously glad that Tony's intoxicated senses would be paying the price for his asshatery. "_Down came the rain and washed the spider out–_”

"Uh, yeah. No. I believe I said good songs." Tony lifted his head up off the pillow. He had possibly the worst case of bed hair in the world but _damn_ if it wasn't adorable. 

"Excuse you. That is a good lullaby." Peter was offended on behalf of his fellow arachnid family. Well, kind of family. 

"I hate spiders."

That was news to Peter. Suddenly, Mr. Stark's reaction to that prank he pulled on his ceiling a few weeks made a lot of sense. "You have arachnophobia?" 

Tony dropped his jaw comically. Peter only laughed harder at the sight. "Are you– are you laughing right now? Seriously? You're laughing at my phobia?"

Peter bit his lip to stifle his giggles but was unfortunately unsuccessfully. Oh, well. He tried.

Tony flopped back on the pillow with a groan. "You're the worst nanny in the world. And I would know; I've had about a million of them. Right up until... fourteen? Fifteen?" He waved a perfunctory hand. "Something like that."

That got Peter to clam up. Nothing like the casual mention of childhood neglect to sober up a conversation.

"Come on." Tony's smirk was predatory, filthy and hot as he patted the empty space next to him. "Hop in to bed with me. I find it easier to sleep when there's a warm body – _Oh_."

The frightening haughty pallor was all the warning Peter needed before he shoved the empty box of takeout food under Tony's nose before he was vomiting it all back up.

Tony Stark just threw up on Peter and yes it was worse than it sounded. Much, much worse.

"Oh fuck," Tony slurred as Peter felt the moisture begin to soak into his skin. 

"Right," Peter declared. "That's it. I'm wearing your clothes."

When Peter came back, Tony froze as he looked over at his figure, bundled in Tony's loose MIT sweater and jeans. Peter had figured they were the least expensive thing the billionaire owned.

"You look good in my clothes," Tony said after a beat, still ogling him. A crooked smile danced on the curve of his lips as he added, "Fuck, you should keep 'em."

Peter was way too weirded out by the whole fiasco to appropriately process that response, so he did what he did best: propose watching _Star Wars_. He suggested watching _The Return of the Jedi_ on Tony’s ludicrously large television. It wasn’t his favourite of the prequel series, or even any of the Star Wars films, but familiarity was key in these trying times.

Tony squinted at the box-shaped TV. "There is no good and evil in real life, kid."

_There is only power, and those too weak to seek it,_ the not-so-secret nerd in Peter finished. No. Wrong franchise. _Harry Potter_ was probably being rejected by publishers as they were speaking.

"Tony. It's a film about coloured sabres. Stop trying to inflict reality on to it, and just enjoy the spectacle."

Tony rolled his eyes, but unlike earlier, Peter didn't get the sense that he was being mocked. It was more of a playful gesture, one intended in good spirits. 

"Sweet cheeks, you are such a nerd," Tony said – and was that a hint of fondness shining in his voice?

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Says the man who graduated _summa cum laude_ from MIT at seventeen."

Tony chuckled a little at that before wincing – laughter probably hadn't helped alleviate his pounding head. Peter's heart skipped a beat at the sound. It was always felt like a reward to get Tony Stark to laugh, like he'd just won the billionaire jackpot, and it left Peter feeling breathless whenever he did. Recently, Mr. Stark had been more receptive to Peter's silly humour which made his heart beat all the more irregular. 

"Alright, I'll take that," said Tony.

They watched the rest of the film in silence. Peter kept sneaking conspicuous glances at Tony, observing his reaction to the film.

His heart stuttered when Tony dropped off on his shoulder halfway through and, so carefully, he manoeuvred Tony into lying on his king-sized bed, and quietly turned off the film.

Peter stood vigil while Tony slept, making sure the genius didn't do anything stupid in his sleep like choke on his tongue. That would not be good.

Tony was a snorer when drunk. Also: a massive bed hog. Seriously, the obnoxious pillows were all thrown haphazardly to the floor by a grand sweep of Tony's arms as he shifted.

Peter filed away that information carefully, for no reason in particular.

Tony had a fitful sleep, interrupted a couple more times by the occasional bout of vomit-induced hysteria. His spider senses had just tingled before Peter had unceremoniously shoved a waste paper basket under Tony's noise before the puke was coming up in waves, awkwardly patting the man on the back as he did so. 

Tony also had a nightmare in the night, that he didn't wake up to. He was calling for his parents and something in Peter's chest tightened. He understood the trauma of losing your parents – and Peter hadn't even gotten the opportunity to really know his parents before they were taken. At the time, that seemed the worst thing in the world; not knowing the people who birthed him. But, looking at Tony, Peter wondered if maybe it was a blessing that he never knew Mary and Richard Parker, if only so he could be spared the agony he knew Tony was feeling.

With a frightening shout, Tony awoke from his nightmare, gaze swinging wildly before landing on Peter, eyes raking over his form, grounding him in this reality.

Peter made obscene consolations, hands tenderly brushing a stray curl plastered to his forehead, before biting his lip. “I know what it’s like to wake up from nightmares.”

Tony stared at him blankly before he barked a harsh laugh. Peter basked in the hollowness of it. "No offence, sweet cheeks, but you don't know shit."

Offence very much taken. But Tony had a pass because this Tony didn't know him, and the grief was only all too fresh. 

Tony snorted at Peter's silence and rolled over as he best he could while nursing the after effects of his ill-timed drunk fest.

Instead of voicing any of that aloud, Peter simply turned away and gathered his thoughts. When he spoke, it was with a calm, measured voice. "My parents died when I was six." His spidey sense alerted him to the rapid turn of Tony's head but Peter resolutely focussed on a spot right in front of him. If he looked at Tony, there was no way he could get it all out. Peter hadn't even told _his_ Tony the whole story. "It was a plane crash so it was quick. At least, I think it was? I hope it was. Doesn't make it any easier though." And then, softer, "I can't even remember their faces..."

Which, well. Perhaps not the best gesture of empathy he could have extended but honesty was the best policy for a reason, was it not. 

"The fact that there wasn't anything I could've done didn't make it any easier to swallow though. Y'know what I mean?" Of course Tony knew. 

"My uncle? That was my fault." Peter couldn't elaborate around the lump in his throat. Tony didn't make him.

"How do you live with it?" Tony asked in a small voice. Peter's heart shattered at the defeat in his voice and wanted nothing more than to bundle Tony up in his arms and protect him from the world that had taken so much from him and would go on to take so much more. But he couldn't. Instead, he swallowed around the lump in his throat and did his best to remember that Tony had asked Peter for advice.

"The nightmares? They'll stop after a while."

"No, not the dreams." Tony sighed, weary even in his twenties. He was trembling all over, fisting his hands in the duvet. "The guilt."

"Yeah, that never really goes away," Peter whispered. Ben's face flashed in his mind as well as two blurry figures he presumed were his parents, only to be replaced with images of May and Happy, and Ned and MJ. 

And Mr. Stark. His Tony, if Mr. Stark could ever be prepositioned as Peter's. He feared that would forever remain a ludicrous fantasy, trapped in _Peter's_ head under lock and key.

Peter lay down beside Tony, and was rewarded with Tony drawing him into a tight embrace.

Damn. Tony Stark was affectionate. One might even go so far as to say tender. Peter definitely thought so, anyway, as Tony nuzzled against Peter's neck. 

Peter's shock didn't stem so much from the fact that Tony was fond, as such – but rather that the cuddly sentiments were aimed at _him_. Peter Parker. The guy Mr. Stark would always see as simply _kid;_ no more, no less.

No. He was not going to go down that road, that path only led to crippling feelings of unworthiness and Peter really was not in the mood for it. Not when he had a young Mr. Stark to take care of.

So Peter redirected his attention to the young man. With a teasing smile, he joked, "Always knew you were a softie at heart." He couldn't help the heart palpitations that arose when he felt Tony's smile dance across his collarbone.

Fuck. Peter wasn't sure he could survive this. The cruel facsimile of everything he wanted, but just _so wrong_. 

"Yeah, well," Tony started around a yawn, "don't get used to it. I've thrown up in front of you multiple times tonight, so a little affection is the least I can give you."

"Are you sure you're not just a big ol' snuggler?"

Tony chuckled, low and light.

"Do you fancy doing this again, sometime?" Tony asked out of nowhere, much to Peter's surprise. 

"What, me carrying your drunk ass to your hotel room where you proceed to throw up the entire contents of your stomach?" 

Peter meant it as a joke but Tony winced. "I would say don't hold that against me, but I can't guarantee I won't behave worse. I won't get any better with familiarity."

_Familiarity_. Tony wanted to be familiar with Peter? As in: get to know him?

"What about those Playboy models?" Peter asked in a daze, mind replaying that word over and over. 

Tony gave a one-shoulder shrug. "I'll blow 'em off. You're more attractive anyway."

How many times was Tony Stark going to stun him into silence? 

"I thought the whole point was that they would be blowing _you_ off," Peter threw back weakly. He was rewarded with a cheeky smile for his efforts. There was an edge of expectation still loitering in Tony’s expression, the rush of anticipation making Peter nervous. 

God. Peter didn't think he could survive this.

Fuck.

"I – uh – I don't know how long I'll be in town," Peter stammered out instead.

Tony simply shrugged. "I don't mind waiting for when you come back." 

The worst part was: Tony sounded the most genuine he'd been all night.

In the end, Peter was spared a reply. “Jus’ a thought,” Tony said sleepily, and within seconds Peter’s ears were ringing with soft snores, even breaths fanning across Peter’s face.

* * *

Peter wasn't quite sure how it happened. One second he was there, nestled perfectly against the warm weight of Tony, desperately trying to hold on to the frail tendrils of consciousness; the next, he was hurtled back into the New York Sanctum at lightning speed.

Peter had vertigo.

“–bring him back to me or so help me _god_–”

"Oh, lookie. Boy Wonder has returned," Strange's deadpan voice remarked. 

Peter barely had any time to register the bizarre time hop before he was being crushed against Mr. Stark's chest, a desperate _Peter_ whispered in his curls.

"Sorry to interrupt this tender display," a dry voice drawled, "but I think I may have just been sick in my mouth."

Mr. Stark glared at the wizard. Peter ducked his head to ward off the stubborn flush decorating his cheeks.

“You okay?” Mr. Stark said, drawing back from the hug slightly, ignoring Strange’s displeased sigh in favour of scrutinising every inch of Peter’s face.

Peter nodded, shakily. This was all so surreal. In his mind’s eye, the dichotomy between Tony and Mr. Stark was rife, and Peter struggled to find any coherence in the likeness. He wasn’t sure if he could trust himself to speak, so he didn’t.

Any doubt Peter had about Mr. Stark's retention of the night in question dissipated at the look in his eyes then.

Mr. Stark's fingertips traced his jaw, feather light touches that left Peter aching. There was an awed reverence in his deep brown eyes as he gazed upon Peter's face, as though he were staring straight into Peter's soul.

"_Kid_?" Mr. Stark's voice trembled at the edges, shot with an emotion Peter couldn't decipher.

"Okay, as enlightening as this experience has no doubt been, the threat has been dealt with," Doctor Strange said tersely. 

Peter's brows furrowed, and he snapped away from Mr. Stark's tortured eyes. "But why did I get sent to... where I was sent to?" he trailed off lamely.

"The Time Stone has a mind of its own," the wizard cryptically stated. "Wherever it sent you, it had its reasons."

Peter ducked his head, hot under Tony's collar. He didn't dare chance a look at Mr. Stark.

Doctor Strange sighed, sounding thoroughly bemused by the whole situation. Without even an apology, a thank-you, or a heartfelt congratulations (if 'heartfelt' could ever be attributed to the Sorcerer Supreme), Doctor Strange conjured up one of his nifty glowing rings, and just as quickly shooed by both Peter and Mr. Stark through.

And then it was just Peter and Mr. Stark. The silence was stifling and accusatory, and Peter struggled to lift his eyes.

Peter wondered whether Tony had maybe glamorised their time, building it up in his head over time to be something bigger than what it was. Maybe he regretted it, knowing what he did now – maybe he hated the fact that it was _Peter_, and not the allure of a mysterious beauty that ensnared him for the night. 

It wasn't even all that memorable, Peter thought, especially not for someone with numerous sexual experiences like Tony. For god's sake, Tony had been surrounded by literal supermodels – tall, blonde, legged supermodels of every gender. Peter wasn't a supermodel; he had nothing to offer in comparison. The man had even said so himself: why would Tony bother to look twice at someone like Peter?

Anyway, all Peter really did that night was act as a glorified babysitter, making sure that Tony didn't swallow his tongue or choke on his own vomit in the night. That surely wasn't enough for Tony to build such reverence decades after the fact, was it? Peter was just being himself – and he'd been reliably informed that _Peter, nobody wants that_ – so why would Mr. Stark be any different?

"Are you, um. Are you disappointed that it's me?" Peter hedged the question nervously, trying (and failing) to hide his lingering anxieties.

Mr. Stark fixed Peter with an intense look, piercing in its unreadability. 

"How can you even think that, Peter?"

Peter shrugged, unable to look his mentor in the eyes that were so hauntingly the same as his younger self, it made Peter’s head spin. He didn’t see the pursuing of Mr. Stark’s utterly kissable lips – _no, stop it!_ – but he heard it all the same.

"But I'm nothing special–”

"Kid," Mr. Stark began. He sounded wrecked. "How can you not get it? You are everything to me."

Peter gaped.

His head swam. “But then why–”

"Do you have any idea how many people I've slept with over the years?" Mr. Stark cut him off abruptly, skirting about the issue.

Peter, who was reeling by the sudden topic change, chanced raising his head. He attempted to inject some bad humour into the equation. "No, but I'm pretty sure _Vogue_ have a tally somewhere."

It worked – Mr. Stark did crack a smile. The wrong kind of smile. One that spoke of bitterness, of self-recrimination, of internal anger. A sharp, cruel thing, poised like a dagger, the hilt angled towards Peter; all he would have to do was give it a little nudge. It was exhilarating, having this kind of power over Mr. Stark. Exhilarating but incredibly sad. 

"It'll be incomplete, I assure you," Mr. Stark said, unaware of Peter's analysis. "Even I don't know. Hundreds, thousands – might've even skirted the million mark."

"Um. Okay?" Peter was pretty sure he wasn't the jealous type, but if Mr. Stark kept going on about all the people he'd fucked over the years while refusing to sort Peter into that category, then Peter was going to riot.

Mr. Stark exhaled sharply. "I thought the Avengers were going to be my surrogate family and then they all left me, one by one. But you – kid, I _can't_ lose you." He chuckled bitterly, mirthless. "God, I wanted you back then, even before you took me home. I would have _ruined_ you, Pete. Ruined you without any of the compunction I have now." The words sounded filthy, dirty in the very best of ways, but the tone was all wrong. The guilt poisoning Mr. Stark's voice was all wrong.

Peter understood. He wished; terribly, heartbreakingly wished that he didn't understand the subtext in Mr. Stark's warning. He was a fool, but there was a small, awful part of him that wished, with the way Tony acted in the past, meant that... but, no. That was impossible. 

"It's okay, sir," he said. "You don't have to explain." Quietly, "I get it."

"No, you don't."

Peter craned his neck, no longer looking up at Mr. Stark through his lashes. He was sure, with the force of his action, he sprained something, but whatever. He had a healing factor.

"Kid, I'm trying really hard here not to throw you up against a wall and kiss you. I get all the brownie points for that."

Is this what whiplash felt like? Peter’s head hurt.

So, Peter did what he did best: ramble.

"Look, I really, really like you. Like, a lot. And you, like, basically owe me a date. So, how about scheduling something for next week? You take me out for dinner, we can have a proper conversation about it." He threw in a cheeky wink, braver than he felt. “Maybe tell me the list of reasons why you’d be terrible for me.”

Tony's lips curved slowly; the sight had all the makings of transforming into his rare, beautiful grin. "Oh, _am_ I?"

Peter smiled too. “Yes, and then– _umph_!"

Whatever Peter was about to say was unceremoniously vetoed by the incredibly glorious feel of Mr. Stark's lips pressed against his.

Peter's first kiss with Mr. Stark – _Tony_ – was indescribable. Tongue prodding gently at his lower lip, tentatively asking for permission that Peter gave willing. 

Tony caught his lower lip as the kiss drew to a close, teeth nipping softly before he sucked it into his mouth. It was the best Peter'd ever felt. He didn't even know it could feel like that; that amazing, that wondrous. He hoped it felt the same for Tony. 

Peter couldn't withhold his whimper – manly, it was a manly whimper – when Tony released him, drawing back a little but never relinquishing his hold. Peter never wanted to leave the _familiarity_ of Tony's arms.

“What was that?” Peter breathed, once they drew away.

There was a haunting vulnerability swimming in Tony’s eyes, beautiful in the face of honesty.

Tony shrugged. “I’ve been waiting twenty-odd years to do that. I couldn’t fucking wait anymore.”

Peter grinned. “Kiss me again, sir.”

Tony complied. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you guys thought about it!


End file.
